


Attracting Vermin

by Professional_Creeper



Series: Tucker Cleveland [1]
Category: Graveyard Shift (1990)
Genre: Banter, Chair Sex, Class Differences, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Kitchen Sex, Love/Hate, Naked Female Clothed Male, Neighbors, Opposites Attract, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Slap Slap Kiss, Smut, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 22:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5309036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Professional_Creeper/pseuds/Professional_Creeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wanted to give her low-life neighbor, exterminator Tucker Cleveland, a piece of her mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attracting Vermin

**Author's Note:**

> My longest Brad Dourif smut scene yet!

That damned dog was in her yard again.

It was one thing that her garden was being dug up by a terrier obviously not kept on a short enough leash-- that alone  _maybe_ she could forgive. It was the owner's entirely unrepentant attitude about it each time she went to complain that really infuriated her, and this made the fourth time this week.

“Must be rats in your garden,” he'd assert, mouth rolling a patronizing drawl around a wad of tobacco. His eyes were always full of confidence that he knew something she didn't about her own property-- a condescending way to make _his_ damned dog's bad behavior out to be _her_ problem. 

What else could she expect? Tucker Cleveland was a blue-collar exterminator, and a Vietnam veteran on top of it. What respect could an independent female entrepreneur anticipate out of a backwards hick like that? It probably boiled his blood that a woman made more money than he could ever dream of with his little “Martial Extermination” business.

Trashy neighbors like Cleveland were a risk she knew she was taking when she moved in. The small Maine neighborhood was only a twenty minute commute from the booming city of Portland. Job growth was on the rise, and wealthier individuals were looking for fine homes in the country to get away from the city bustle. This town was currently populated by mill workers and farmers, which is what kept the property values dirt-cheap.

It was a real estate gold mine for one with foresight and patience.

She had already bought up half the land in town, and was busy bulldozing old wrecks to build modern homes, and refurbishing those which could pass for quaint-yet-lavish historic homes. It was only a matter of time for urban sprawl and gentrification to inflate the land values a hundred-fold.

The neighbors were her only problem, and this was the last straw. That mutt had destroyed her begonias, and now was ripping up a bed of what would have grown into juicy heirloom tomatoes. Cleveland would answer for it.

Her fist rang out like gunfire against the dry wood of his door. As it cracked open, a cloud of tobacco and wet dog smell pushed her back. There stood Tucker, with his greasy dark hair that hung in waves to his shoulders, the top part of it pulled back into a ragged bun. He always wore a military-green flight suit, though the war ended ten years ago. He would always been at war with the rats, his new-found proxy for the VC. 

She hoped to get straight to her point and avoid another diatribe about the evils of rats… though as he stood staring at her, eyebrows raised, muscular arm leaning casually on the side of the door frame, she forgot momentarily what she had come to complain about.

The sound of dirt spraying across her lawn snapped reality back in place. She pointed over her shoulder. “That fucking dog again, Cleveland. I'm going to call the police to have him removed one of these days. It's called being a nuisance animal. Sort of like you.” she smirked.

“Moxie ain't a nuisance,” he replied with the expected amount of disregard. “Not her fault you like living with rats, and you're too fuckin' uptight to admit it. Think you're too hoity-toity to attract vermin.”

“Oh? Me? I'm hoity-toity? And what about you, you scam-artist redneck. Do you think I'm going to just take your word-- your _dog's_ word-- that I've conveniently got an infestation? One you'd be _happy_ to take care of, for a fee? Unlike you, I keep my house clean. I've never seen a rat and I don't appreciate you treating me like an idiot. Or do you just want to get a look at the inside of my house? Hmm?” She envisioned him pretending to scout for pests, while secretly rummaging through her panty drawer. Something in the thought of his dirty paws all over her clean, silk underpants sent an unbidden thrill racing down her spine.

“Why would I want to look at your fancy fuckin' house? Thing's eyesore enough from the outside.” he shot in retort. “And you _are_ an idiot if you think rats give a shit how much money you've got. They'll just eat up everything, starting with your precious garden, then they'll get deep inside the belly of that big old house and just keep chewing 'til it's as hollow as you.” He chewed his plug with a self-satisfied air as he lit into her, making her hands quiver with rage.

“At least I don't spend my life killing helpless animals because I won't admit my brain's addled with shell-shock.” she hissed.

“You don't know a goddamn thing, city-slicker.”

“Just get your dog out of my yard, you disgusting creep!”

“Maybe I'd be more inclined if you weren't such a bitch.” he fired back, leaning in close to her face, narrowing his eyes until his brow sloped down over them like a neanderthal. So close, those eyes looked unbelievably blue, like a tropical sea washing over a white beach. The only part of him sparkling clean.

“That's rich, coming from a repugnant asshole like you.”

“Well you're a--” Tucker tried his best to rip into her with another cutting remark, but found his mouth suddenly occupied. Her warm, red lips ravaged his, as her freshly manicured nails twined into his unkempt hair. He held her fragile waist in his rough hands, as the anger re-routed itself into something else.

She pulled back at last, with a gasp, and a wrinkled nose. “You taste disgusting.” she scoffed. He spit out a slippery mass of tobacco onto the lawn. “Gross!” she retched, and tried to squirm out of his arms.

“Shut your mouth” he growled with such authority she did as she was told. His face, she noticed, looked much more slender and angular without the putrid tobacco puffing out his cheeks. She let out a guttural snarl of approval.

He wrapped a steely arm about her hips, and easily lifted her feet from the ground. Like a caveman taking a wife back to his cave, he dragged her into his tiny, cluttered home, slamming the door closed with his free hand. Taxidermed animals lined the walls, and their eerie glass eyes glared down at them as they stumbled in like drunkards. His lips devoured hers, invading her mouth with his tongue that still tasted sharp, rancid, and metallic-- yet rather than pull away, she pushed into him with full force. She craved his filth. She craved him like a caged animal yearning for the wild. Rat poison and weapons crowded nearly every flat surface-- yet all she could think about were his hands on her body, exploring her, seeking, violating every inch of skin they dared touch. Would his grimy hands stain her pristine white shirt? Leave streaks on her ivory skin which would never wash off?

“Yes. Yes! Please...” she begged, grinding her hips against his and finding his hardening bulge. She moved herself against it as he gasped into her ear. He gripped her pants, pressing her buttocks firmly into him, savoring the friction of her loins against his.

“Your hands are so filthy they're going to stain my clothes.” she whispered, slipping her hand between their bodies, finding his erection through rough-hewn pants. Her palm slid down its length, and she smiled at its girth.

“Well, we'll just have to take them off then.” he promised, voice dropping low. She let him unbutton her blouse, his tar-stained fingertips undoing one pearl button at a time.

“Ohhh, God.” she moaned, wriggling her shoulders free of the constraining fabric. Her heart pounded faster in her chest. _We're really doing this._ _I'm really doing this. am I crazy?_ she thought, watching like a spectator as he unclasped her bra-- as her own breasts were exposed before this barbaric man. A man she loathed, yet longed for.

Before she even realized the damage done, her pants slipped down, and pooled around her ankles. His fingers were alarmingly dexterous, working with a quickness like gnawing rats. Within moments of the door locking her into the twilight of his living room, all of her clothes had fallen away, while he remained fully clothed in his flight suit.

“Hey,” she complained, “why am I the only one naked?”

“What's the matter, princess? You scared of me?” he mocked, and pushed her down into a wooden kitchen chair.

She would never admit to feeling vulnerable, and set her jaw sternly to show she was confident in her superiority, naked or clothed. Before another protest could issue from her lips, he was kneeling between her legs, spreading her thighs open with those rough, talented hands.

“What are you doing?” she cried, voice trembling with confusion. He didn't answer, but pressed a kiss to the inside of one thigh that left in its wake far more heat than his mouth itself. She found her breath coming shorter, and faster. _Am I afraid? Why is he looking at me so close down there? Stop!_ Yet no words came out, as she watched with curiosity. He kissed her again, lips feathering her labia, so close, too close to her sensitive opening. _He wouldn’t_ , she thought, swallowing. _If he put his mouth there, I might lose control_. Little kisses traced down, spiraling closer, leaving shudders of electricity in their path, until his hot mouth found her sensitive pink center. Her heart raced as bolts of pleasure sang out through her veins. She tried to hold in a cry, but it escaped her lips, a squeal of confusion and delight, as she arched her back into his vulgar mouth. Her bud hardened between his lips. She cursed her body for reacting so easily to him, but as he began to caress her with his tongue, another cry escaped her. She wanted to protest, to save her dignity. Instead, her legs opened wider to him, begging him inside, betraying her.

His tongue traced warm, slippery circles around her clit, dipping into her slick entrance, and all she could do was bite her fist against the humiliating whimpers her body wanted to scream out. Her nails dug into the wooden seat, and she opened her legs farther, angling her hips to grant him better access, bidding him on. _More,_ she thought, but would not dare voice it, _more!_ Then, his mouth ceased making its lazing circles, and sealed itself around her throbbing clitoris. He sucked. A cry tore from her throat, unable to be held in. His tongue ghosted over her, licking feverishly with tantalizingly delicate touches, while holding a constant suckling pressure. Her cries flew unchecked with each circle of his tongue, with each renewed effort to draw her into his mouth. None of the prudish, straight-laced men she had been with had ever done such a vulgar thing to her, and she found there was a distinct advantage to his disregard for purity. Pride and restraint suddenly seemed a distant thought, overshadowed by the growing need that pulled her on, like a rope, pulled taught. She would do anything to reach the pinnacle of that tension pulling, drawing in from her whole body, peaking around his mouth-- his wonderful, warm, electric mouth. She ran a hand across his jaw, sliding back through the greasy tangle of his hair, and urged him into her.

“God, yes. Harder. Suck it harder. Please… don't stop. Don't stop.” she begged. He obeyed, encompassing her hardened bud, working his lips over it in an unstoppable rhythm in time with her cries. “Ah! Ah! Ah!” she screamed out, suddenly jolting forward, and nearly toppling out of the chair, half-standing, pressing his face to her as he clung to her thighs, not allowing him to escape until she had convulsed into his tongue, panting and heaving, and swearing. She rocked her hips against his mouth a final time, bringing herself to another gasping spasm, before letting go his head, and bracing her hands on his shoulders to keep upright. He looked up at her, marveling at her furious intensity. Now, exhausted, she looked down with embarrassment at his blue eyes staring up from between her legs, still close enough for his breath to tickle her clit. Wetness clung to his mouth and chin, but he didn't seem disgusted. He smiled cheekily, leaning forward to lap up her juices, making her cry out and jump back with the sudden re-stimulation.

Slowly her senses returned to her. Only when she had caught her breath did she remember, this was supposed to be a man she despised… though that opinion was now in question. It was still too intimate, too compromising to have him squatting between her naked legs. He had seen everything in her most private area, so closely that he now held greater authority on its appearance than she did. She had lost so much of her dignity to this vermin.

“Well...” she began to say, searching the floor for her clothes, when he took her place in the chair. The jumpsuit unzipped, and with a little rummaging, he at last exposed part of himself to her. She looked from its pink head, down to the base lined with dark curls, more excited than she would say to finally see him compromised. When her eyes flicked up to his, she realized he had seen her staring, and once again, _she_ was the one embarrassed. He didn't look compromised at all, grinning at her in self-satisfaction, as if to say, “You like what you see?” He was assured in the skill of his tongue, and of his growing hardness. “Well? You gonna return the favor? C'mere.”

She looked revolted. “Put my mouth on _that?_ When is the last time you bathed?”

“I shoulda figured,” he said through gritted teeth. “Recent enough.”

She grimaced skeptically.

“Come on, you weren't exactly fresh as a spring daisy either! Fine, fine,” he relented, raising his hands in surrender as her eyes shot fire. “Fuckin' prude. Will you at least use your hands?”

“If you ask nicely, like a civilized gentleman, I'll consider it.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, and replied through gritted teeth, “Why ma'am, I'd sure appreciate if you jerked me off.”

After consideration, she nodded with a noncommittal grunt. She was above this… entirely above this… yet she knelt beside him, and reached out to grasp his warm shaft. It filled her hand nicely, her thumb barely able to touch the tip of her ring finger. The skin was soft as velvet, and warm as she began to stroke, squeezing lightly up to the tip, and running back down to the base.

“A little harder there, princess, you don't have to be so gentle with it.” he coached with an unexpected softness to his voice. “Just like that, good...” he purred, as she adjusted her grip tighter, until she could feel the blood throbbing through his veins as she pumped. She would never admit that she liked it… but though she had been spent moments ago, she could feel herself growing wet again, heat growing inside her, pooling and lapping at her core in waves. She was in control of him. Every motion of her wrist altered his breathing and sent flickers of emotion across his face. His mouth hung slack, and his eyes squeezed tightly closed in concentration as she pleasured him. He grew more and more rigid in her hands until he felt hard as steel and his length stood to the level of his navel. Her breath became shaky and ragged, and the flush of her cheeks gave away her arousal. “You like that, don't you?” he observed with gluttony. He placed a calloused palm to the back of her head, and pulled her down.

She pushed back, ripping her head from his grip. “No! That is still not going anywhere near my mouth.”

He let out a roar of frustration, and snarled, consumed by desire, “Then get on.” He stared her dead in the eyes, challenging her to disobey as he issued the order. And it _was_ an order.

She swallowed hard. He kept his eyes fixed on her, impatiently awaiting her. Did she want to have sex with him? Certainly she hadn't come here with the plan to, yet he had already done things to her that made her vision swim with color. Now she was too swept away to stop. Ashamed of being reduced to this rodent's lowly whore, she obeyed his wish. Swinging a leg over his lap, she eased down on his erection. She closed her eyes as she felt him slowly spread and her open, length of his shaft slipping deeper until she was sitting straddled upon him, bare thighs flush against his rough pants. It wasn't fair… it was humiliating that he was still fully dressed, save for the cock now buried inside her.

She opened her eyes, and found him staring back at her with his blue ghosts. For a fleeting moment, Tucker Cleveland actually looked sweet. His brow squeezed upward just slightly as he looked over her in awe. It was as if he had never expected to get this far with her... and well he shouldn't have. She didn't understand why she had allowed things to go this far. She was from the city, raised amid charity balls and black-tie dinner parties, and he was… he was nobody. A dirty freak who poisoned rats for a living, always covered in a film of sweat and grime, always trapped in a war that never really ended. The innocent look dissipated as she watched, like morning fog as the sun cuts through it. He could only look at her like that if she didn't see. She smirked. Neither of them dared show weakness, they had that much in common.

“Well?” she questioned, waiting for him to take the lead. She'd never had sex in a chair before. He chuckled, giving a tender smirk at this discovery of her apparent naivety. He gripped her hips, fingers digging in to the fatty flesh of her buttocks, and pulled her in to his first thrust. He was gentle with her at first. He didn't have any leverage in the chair, so he used her body, grunting as he moved her atop him, letting the friction between them rub her sensitive skin. She bit her lip to hold in new noises that begged to be free, and wrapped her arms about his neck. She felt like his sex toy, and that made her drip with excitement. Soon she was rocking of her own volition, and his guiding hands fell away as she found his pace, and kept it. She couldn't stop staring at him… his eyes sank closed again as he submitted to her pendulous motion. She took pride in each softly surrendered groan and inhaled breath. His face tipped up to the ceiling, as in supplication before his goddess. She had power over him with every movement of her hips, and she reveled in it. She slowly rolled forward and up, letting his wet length unhappily meet the air, until the flared tip barely clung to the tight constriction of her entrance. He drew in a shaky breath, and just as he peeked under his lids with uncertainty in his eyes, she slid back down again, engulfing him in her warm darkness, opening her legs wider to take him in as far as he would go. He roared in relief and pleasure and buried his face in her neck. She had complete control over him.

At least, she thought she had the upper hand. Suddenly, his hands were on her again, lighting a fire and raising goosebumps on her skin wherever they touched. They clasped around her back as she rode him, and pulled her down. He kissed her neck, and she felt his heavy breathing against her hair. He nibbled down her collar bone, teeth gently scraping the skin as he worked lower. A hand snaked under her chest and gripped one of her supple peaks. He kneaded it in his palm, and captured a nipple, feeling the skin contract and tighten under his lips. “Mmm” she groaned, feeling a growing urgency that made her increase pace, riding him, grinding into him frantically as his tongue darted out again and again to tease her skin. God, she needed more. She needed his savagery, his power. If she was to be bare and helpless before him, then let him be the fierce master she lusted for.

“Is this all you can do?” she taunted, sneering. “Come on, redneck, you fuck your sister this way?”

She expected fury, expected him to ram his cock hard inside her, to take her by the throat, slam her down on the table, and fuck her until she couldn’t walk. Instead he grinned that obnoxious, knowing grin at her and snickered.

“Listen to the mouth on you. If you want something you just gotta ask.”

She blanched. He was clever for a blue-collar son of a bitch. He would not fall for her goading. Yet, asking meant admitting she wanted it. She wouldn't lower herself to beg from a man she despised. He saw the hesitation in her eyes.

“Go on.” he smirked, “Tell me what you want me to do to you. I want you to beg for it. Go on, say please, and I'll do it for you.”

Heat flushed to her cheeks until they were bright as her lipstick. Her pride raged against her, but her heart was flooded, consumed with the need to relieve the tension building, coiling and springing around the throbbing cock between her legs.

“P...Please….” she strained.

“Say my name,” he growled, low and sweet.

“Tucker...”

“Beg me.”

“Tucker, please…” she whimpered, “I want you harder, I need you to make me sore.”

“Now admit you've got a rat problem.”

“Oh fuck you! The only rat problem I have is--”

He grasped her in his strong arms, without missing a thrust, and lifted them both out of the chair, and pinned her against the wall, thrusting so hard inside her she could feel her pelvis digging in against the hard eggshell wall. She cried out in relief. Her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist for support, as he slammed into her, forcing his tobacco-flavored lips upon her. She let his tongue violate her as each thrust of his hips filled her with tension and ecstasy.

Then, she was off the wall again, still held firm to him with his strong arms, his mouth still hot on hers. With a sweep of an arm, a hundred empty beer cans went flying off the kitchen table, clattering like tin bells across the linoleum. Her back crashed down onto the cleared wood slab, and she screamed with the indignity of being handled so coarsely. Yet, the tension building within her spiked, and she thought she might break. He roughly grabbed her legs, and pulled her into him. She cried out in pain and gratification as he forced her open, lifting the small of her back off the table and pulling her against him as he pushed himself in, filling her completely until he struck against her deepest limits. 

“Oh, yes!” she screamed, too lost in the heaving of her body to care about dignity. The heat rose within her, desperate for every stroke, desire drowning out every other thought. Each forceful movement of his hips made the table jump, and all she could think about was becoming his. How he would fill her up with his dirty come, and she would be as filthy as he was. “Harder,” she commanded. Another slam, stretching and filling her, and the table skidded again. “Harder!” she cried again, face contorting, mouth opened helplessly in a silent scream, feeling the tension spooling up and building, stoking a furnace within her until she felt about to burst. His breaths came out ragged, and rhythmic, and groaning. He leaned over her, pushing her legs up over his shoulders, and thrust into her at a furious pace, brow knitting in concentration. Finally, with an erratic surge, he gasped, and let out a helpless groan, spilling his seed inside of her. His final push filled her with explosive pressure, and the sound of his defenseless moans drove her over her peak. The tension broke hard and she let out a guttural cry of satisfaction, feeling herself tighten around his hardness, and release, to tighten again. Each involuntary twitch set off a spasm in him, which pushed her over again, to tease his spent cock with renewed contractions. Unable to take any more, he pulled out, leaving her dripping over the edge of his kitchen table.

“This… feels... gross.” she huffed between breaths, staring at the ceiling.

“Since we're, uh… such good neighbors now… it'd only be hospitable if I let you use my shower.” His skin was flushed and glistening with perspiration.

“Nah. It's probably filled with mildew, and rat poison. I've got a nice double shower head in mine.”

“That's awful wasteful.”

“Not if you shower with me, rat-boy. You've got to be sweating buckets under that thing, and it's not fair I haven't seen you naked yet.”

She rolled her head back on the table, and glanced out the curtainless window. She was only vaguely aware that a neighbor could have seen or heard anything… it seemed the kind of thing she might worry about when her senses came back to her. Across the road, she watched a small brown dog still busily digging up her flower bed. Its head disappeared beneath the soil, then pulled something up in its teeth… something small and dark with a long, snake-like tail.


End file.
